


In unexpected places

by nemo_r



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nausea, Pre-Slash, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-27
Updated: 2010-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:58:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nemo_r/pseuds/nemo_r
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas gets caught... almost</p>
            </blockquote>





	In unexpected places

“ _Dancing?_ ”

Thomas wet his lips, his eyes cutting to Daisy. “Yes sir.”

“Hm.” Carson raised an eyebrow. “All night?”

Thomas glanced over at Daisy again. She was as white as a sheet. Clearly not up to explaining further. How she'd managed to get the nerve to come in, Thomas couldn't work out. He nodded firmly, looking back at Carson. “Yes sir, all night sir.”

“And no one saw you, _dancing_ ”

Thomas shook his head.

Carson sighed. “Very well, Daisy, you may go.”

Daisy curtsied wobbling slightly, her skin still milk-pale. She hesitated after straightening, balancing nervously on the balls of her feet. “Am I, am I dismissed, sir?”

"Yes, yes, didn't I just say-" He turned away from Thomas and got a good look at Daisy. “Oh for heaven's sake. No Daisy. You're not being _dismissed_ , you're, you're being sent to Mrs Hughes.” Daisy still looked unsure. “You're not in any trouble girl. Go.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir,” she said breathlessly, before rushing off in a rustle of skirts.

Carson sighed again, glancing at Thomas before shifting his position, putting his hands behind his back and turning to walk towards the window. He set his hand on the window frame, looking out through the pane.

Thomas stood stiffly behind him, gaze flickering to the butler, then away, then back again.

“Well” Carson spoke without turning. “This is a messy situation. One saying one thing, the other saying another. And no way of proving either of them!” He slapped his hand against the sill.

Thomas wasn't sure if he was expecting an answer, wasn't sure if he could manage to speak sense if he was, he settled for a neutral “Sir.” and a slight nod. Hoping his nerves weren’t as apparent as Daisy's had been.

“O'Brien says she saw you in an...” His lip twisted. “ _Intimate_ position with Blake.” He paused. “Daisy tells me you spent the night _teaching her to dance._ ”

“She does love to dance Sir.”

Carson snorted.

“Without music?”

“We were counting the beats, sir.”

“Were you now.”

He turned and there was a look in his eyes, a shred of pity identifiable in the slope of his brows.

Thomas' breath stopped. A pounding starting on the inside of his ribs – his heart beating so loud, he could barely hear past the rushing in his ears. That was it, he was going to be dismissed, dismissed with that black mark on his reference. Who'd employ him now?

Carson was speaking, his lips farming empty, silent words.

Then suddenly there was a thumping at the door. Carson looked up in shock. Thomas tensed. Oh god. This was the police. The police come to lock him up. He closed his eyes feeling the hot press of tears behind his lids.

“It's true sir, it's true what Daisy said.”

Thomas' breath returned in a rush, and he turned, turned so fast he felt a muscle in his neck wrench painfully.

Bates stood at the door, a little red in the cheeks but otherwise the same, calm Bates, leaning a little on his stick.

“It's true Mr Carson.” Bates coughed, clearing his voice, then continued a little louder. “I saw them.”

“You saw them?” Carson repeated, sounding a little dazed by the drama of the moment, the eleventh hour rescue.

“Yes.” Bates continued, sounding remarkably confident for a complete liar. “I saw them dancing here in the kitchens. My leg you see.” And he tapped it with his stick. “Kept me up. I was walking off the cramps.” His gaze alighted on Thomas for a short second, then back to Carson. “I doubt they saw me. But I saw them. I give you my word.”

Carson was silent behind Thomas, he dared not turn and look him in the face. He knew his own was far to shocked to give Bates' story any hint of credibility.

He tried to get his breathing back under control.

“And you're sure, you're sure it was Thomas, not William-”

“Mr Carson, my eye-sight works perfectly well.” And Bates smiled then, that sudden endearing smile Thomas half-hated him for. The lopsided grin that crinkled crow's feet at the corners of his eyes.

Thomas felt the knot behind his ribs loosening just a hint, and he dropped his eyes, feeling peculiarly ashamed all of a sudden.

“Well then... Well then.” Carson seemed at a loss for words.

“Well, in that case... I shall have to...”

Again Bates came to the rescue. “Perhaps. Since it was only this once. Perhaps he might be let off with a warning? I know I've done some silly things in my youth. Things I've regretted?” He wasn't looking at Thomas as he said this, and Thomas heard Carson draw in his breath suddenly. There was a different sort of tenseness in the room, and Thomas, scenting some secret, as he had a knack to do, found himself this time _wanting_ to turn.

He controlled the desire. No point blowing it now, not so close to home.

“Yes.” Carson said abruptly. “Quite right.”

There was the wet sound of his swallowing, then, “Thomas?”

He turned to face the Butler. “Never again, you understand?”

“Yes sir, never again sir.” Thomas nodded stiffly, his eyes fixed on the stone tiles.

“Good. Good.” Carson paused, And Thomas was sure some unspoken message was being transmitted over his head to Bates. He kept his gaze on the floor, his shoulders tense, that pulled muscle in his neck aching.

“You may go.”

Thomas didn't linger. A short bow and he was spinning on his heel, brushing past Bates – who's hand shot out suddenly to grip, vice-like above his elbow. “A word, if you please.” His voice was a low growl.

Thomas glanced up out of the corner of his eye. Bates' face was set into a blank and pleasant mask, but the light in his eyes was unmistakably hard. Thomas, afraid suddenly in away he'd never been of the man before, found himself nodding, following the other man's slow limp to the garden door, and then out into the kitchen garden.

They just stood there for a moment, Bates leaning back against the kitchen wall, Thomas, still barely able to believe what had happened. He blinked, his eyes feeling gritty, and realised he's been staring blankly, like a fool, at the curve of Bates' right ear. He turned away, then gasped as the muscle in his neck pulled again. His hand moving to it and kneading softly.

He noticed Bates turning towards him peripherally, but now that awareness was rushing back he found he had none to spend on the other man, all of it was focused on the shock and relief of his own situation.

It was over. He hadn’t lost his job, hadn't been exposed, arrested, shamed. He was all right, everything was all right. He stumbled away a couple of steps and puked all over the grass.

He swayed, almost pitching over face first into the muck, before catching himself, hands braced on his knees.

He could see Blake's face. The red curve of his lips in the candlelight. The low murmur of his voice. _“Come on, come on, who's ever going to know? I won't tell if you don't”_

He retched again, stomach heaving and clenching uncontrollably.

The glide of Blake's fingers down his spine, the curve of his arse. The tangle of chest hair against his back, rough wood of the table. The way his fingers curled over the edge of the wood.

That blurred view of the hallway. Pleasure dancing, just moments away.

And O'Brien. O'Brien that bitch traitor O'Brien. Standing their with the most awful look on her face. Her smile.

He retched again, and this time his legs did give way, knees bucking and he was falling forwards. And suddenly there was a firm grip around his middle. A large hand holding his shoulder, holding him secure.

Thomas shook, dry heaving now, nothing left in his stomach to expel.

Bates stepped closer, and now he was pressed right up close to Thomas, the curve of his leg mimicking Thomas', his back pressed right up against Bates' chest. The unintentional symmetry to last night made Thomas shake again, shivering uncontrollably, again and again.

Bates pulled him back, walked him backwards slowly to the wall, and set him down, the both of them crumpling to the ground together.

He held out a handkerchief.

And Thomas looked at it, bleary eyed , before reaching out with cold fingers, landing first on Bates' wrist, then clumsily taking the cloth from his and wiping his eyes and mouth. Blowing his nose.

He made to hand it back before thinking better of it.

Next there was a flask in Bates' hands, there as if by magic and that too, Thomas took gratefully, upending it and gulping it down, the burn of whiskey as it slid down his throat, harsh and wonderful. Oblivion, great idea- Bates pulled the flask from his lips. “No.”

Thomas blinked, then glared at the other man, who simply met the expression with a smile.

Thomas, wrong footed, let the glare slide from his face. Again caught by that damn smile, those damn twinkling, wrinkle framed eyes.

“Why?”

Bates laughed softly. “You're welcome I'm sure.”

Thomas shook his head, lip twisting. “No, don't-” change the subject. Distract me, laugh. “Why? Why did you do that?”

Bates sighed, leaning back a little, then wincing, weight on his bad leg. Thomas glanced down to his legs, then back up, to Bates' face. The other man's eyes were closed against the pain as he shifted his feet, finally easing down to sit properly on the gravel.

Thomas kept his gaze steady as Bates opened his eyes. Feeling his composure trickle back, piece by measly piece.

This time it was Bates who turned away, looking out over the garden towards the gate.

“Because you didn't deserve a dismissal, over what you do in your off hours.”

Thomas studied Bates profile, the round curve of his nose, the slope of his brow, wondering if he stared long enough he'd find the secret in that weather-beaten skin. He shook his head. “You don't know that.” He didn't mean to say it, it just slipped out on his exhale, quiet.

Bates turned to him, gaze cutting through like a blade. Thomas tensed at the look in his eyes, that implacable calm. You don't know that, you don't know me. Stop looking. The hard look broke, and suddenly there was pity. Somehow that was worse. Thomas felt like snarling, lips drawing back form his teeth.

“You didn't do anything wrong.” Thomas was shocked out of his anger, eyes widening.

“Well.” Bates tilted his head to the side. “Maybe the kitchen table was a bad idea. But...”

Thomas stared at him uncomprehendingly for a second, before the sense of that trailed off sentence hit him. He hadn't done anything wrong. What he and Blake had done. Not wrong.

He felt his eyebrows climbing upwards. “You? You're?” His voice came out in a sort of squeak, and he swallowed roughly. “You?” He managed, not making much more sense. But Bates understood all the same. He shrugged, shoulder hitching just a little then dropping again.

He wasn't smiling, no hint of reassurance on his face. In fact, he looked blank, neutral. That impenetrable mask he used to wear often in the early days, before he relaxed into his smile. That slight hint of tension in his jaw.

Thomas felt it then, the balance shift of power. Because now Thomas had his secret. His eyebrows lowered, and he saw his own knowledge mirrored in Bates' eyes.

So now you know that I know.

It was on the tip of his tongue. Some bitter, sharp little comment. He might have said it then, might have gone and said it, prickle of resentment at the coveted valet position spurring him forward, fear and anger and relief mixing in that ugly, nausea-inducing cocktail in his stomach.

But instead, his neck twinged and his winced, freezing still.

It pulled him back from that edge, gave him that extra second to think and he breathed it back in, that painful comment, those harsh words, breathed them back in and swallowed them down.

An odd sort of empty moment. A words-unspoken moment. And he turned away. Looked blankly at the garden, his hand coming up to knead his neck.

“You're welcome.” Bates spoke a couple of second s later. And Thomas heard that damn smile in his voice.

His brows quirked down into a frown, but he couldn’t hold it longer than a second before a laugh bubbled up in his chest and burst out of his mouth.

He coughed against it, let his head fall back against the stone wall and laughed, the slight edge of hysteria making his breath run short.

There was a crunch of gravel as Bates shifted, and then a hand resting on his shoulder, thumb just brushing the skin of his neck.

The shock of touch made his breath hitch.

“Breathe easy.” Bates' low voice rumbling by his ear. He breathed deep. Didn't move. Didn't dare look at the other man.

Bates' thumb brushed his neck again, and Thomas shivered, feeling the roughness of the pad of his thumb against that small inch of skin. He swallowed thickly and Bates' hand shifted, fingers moving along his shoulder to the curve of his neck and then, gently at first, skin sliding against skin, then more firm, he began to knead the pain away.

Thomas relaxed his neck, head resting heavier against the brickwork.

It was only a few minutes, too short, and the hand was removed, the air caressing cold against his bare neck.

He drew in a deep breath, felt Bates doing the same beside him. Thomas opened him mouth, but Bates beat him to it.

“I don't want anything from you.”

Thomas laughed, short and sharp and turned to face Bates.

The other man's eyes were so earnest, and suddenly Thomas felt old, he felt weary with knowledge, as if Bates were the young footman, and he the world-weary valet. “Yes you do. Everyone does.”

He tried for a smirk,let his eyes linger on the lines and curves of Bates' face, he got distracted by the gleam of those lips and had to drag his gaze back up to Bates' eyes.

Bates held his gaze steady. “Not me.”

And he began to stand.

Thomas watched him do it,the slow unfolding of his legs, picking up the stick, unwinding, grimacing, even as he tried to hide it, unwilling to share this, pulling his blank armour back on like a cloak.

Thomas waited until he was standing, before rising to joining him, unbending his strong young legs in one swift motion.

He caught the edge of jealousy in the look Bates' gave his legs, his hips, and he allowed himself a vicious spark of satisfaction. The man was only human after all.

But then Bates turned away. Turned and began limping away down the path, neatly avoiding the mess Thomas had made earlier.

“Where are you going?” Thomas called out after him.

“The village.” Bates replied, not looking back.

Thomas frowned. Where was the demand? The tit for tat, the exchange?

Bates stopped, and Thomas waited, breathing shallowly. Bates turned his head slightly, just enough hat the curve of his cheekbones were visible. “You can join me if you like.”

Thomas' expression slipped slowly, realisation making it's sedate way across his brow.

He walked forward, a sudden explosion of movement, suddenly desperate to see the other man's face, to see for sure.

He circled Bates and slid to a stop in front of him, pebbles scattering as his kicked them to the side.

His gaze flickered over Bates' face, taking it all in, every shred if skin, every line, every wrinkle, every imperfection. All studied, weighed and measured for meaning.

Bates bore it placidly, the odd slow blink as he waited for Thomas to finally finish.

Thomas exhaled heavily, his shoulder dropping. “Nothing? Nothing at all.”

And Bates smiled, that slow, warming, fucking beautiful smile. He gestured towards the path. “If you like.” And he began walking once more.

Thomas, mutely fell in beside him, his usual pace slowed to an amble to allow for Bates' limp.

He pulled open the gate in a daze, then pulled it shut behind them, and the two of them walked together all the way through the grounds to the village. And all the way back.


End file.
